


Effected

by cdra, Fluffy (ChuChuMarshmallow)



Category: Persona 5
Genre: ...Kinda, Brainwashing, Choking, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sadism, Status Effects, lapslock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 08:30:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13678032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cdra/pseuds/cdra, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChuChuMarshmallow/pseuds/Fluffy
Summary: Just another Basic-Ass Marin Karin concept, featuring giggling sadistic Ryuji and true-to-gameplay Ren not being able to find the right persona at the right time. RP LOG; Chapters 2-3 contain perspective-oriented edits of the original RP text (which is chapter 1).





	1. Full Log

**Author's Note:**

> Featuring myself (Cdra) writing Ren and Fluffy writing Ryuji. We ship it but this isn't shippy, because these kids (read: mostly Ryuji) are going to need a while in rp-time to figure out the whole... "attraction" thing.
> 
> Chapters are divided as such: Chapter 1 is the full RP log, hopping between both character perspectives; chapter 2 is limited to Ren's perspective; chapter 3 is limited to Ryuji's perspective. (I wanted to also edit a 4th version with less narration and more just baring it down to the action, but... it was reading off really boring, so I skipped it.)
> 
> So, what I'd say is the "right way" to read this is, if you find the perspective-hopping from the full log jarring, skip the first chapter and just read the other two for both sides of the story in cohesive perspective. \o/
> 
> Oh yeah, also it's lapslock because we get lazy when rping. I am very sorry if this makes it difficult for you to read; it'd be a lot to edit...

it hits him before he has the chance to notice.

until that point, it’d been the same as ever—his heart racing with the adrenaline that pumps through his veins, and his fingers flexing around the pipe in his grasp, itching to take another swing as soon as an opening presents itself. his body is all but anxious to spring forward at any given second, hype for the spoils before they’d even come close to ending the battle; he’s been thinking about a hefty bowl of ramen all _day_ , damnit, and this is the closest anyone can get to money growing on trees.

but then the wave of _something_ washes over him as the shadow hisses a spell, quick to settle under his skin, gripping him tight and rewiring all his circuits. the startled shout he means to give comes as a series of giggles instead—and the planted thoughts in his mind blossom instantly, shifting his entire view on the world around him. it feels _warm_ , like he’s never felt this... _complete_ before—like suddenly, everything about this was _right_ . like this is the way things were truly meant to be—familiar faces summoning the urge to _attack_ , the idea of their blood spilling over at his hand lighting his eyes up with some crazed kind of delight. from the urges that pull his lips into a grin to the way he thinks his hands would be more at place wrapped around a friend’s an enemy’s throat—everything all but calls to him, sings hypnotizing songs of unfiltered _bloodlust_ that he has no strength to resist.

so he falls to it, _hard_ , and it’s only a matter of seconds before he shifts to the side, not so much as hesitating to swing full force at whatever form happened to be close.

(and _god_ , has he never wanted to land a hit so much before—even the thought of it has him chuckling again, even before the sudden attack has time to connect.)

* * *

mementos is full of surprises; every time they think they understand it at all, it gets a little deeper, a little wilder, and even morgana doesn’t know what might lie ahead—their newest member is good at analyzing from what data they have already but there’s no real way to gain more without getting their hands dirty, and there’s no way something like that can go smoothly every time.

so it’s not like ren hasn’t seen this kind of thing before—spells that affect the way they think, incapacitate his allies in invisible ways, make them shake in fear or slump over in despair or even charge ahead in irrational rage. the hair on the back of his neck stands up when he sees the pinkish miasma coming from a shadow and he freezes only to turn and rush back toward skull when he’s hit. joker barks out an order for everyone else to stay back, keep the heat on the enemy while he takes care of this—the laughter spilling from skull’s lips is unsettling and joker knows this is bad, but things’ll get _way worse_ if they let that thing get the upper hand with more of this type of spell.

he shoulder-checks the blond to keep his pipe from landing a blow on queen’s form, meets her eyes for a split-second to share a look that he _hopes_ is convincing as she falters—then whirls on his heel to face his friend, planting his feet as he tries to dig out the right power from within the overflowing well that is his mask.

* * *

the satisfaction of contact in the way he desires is stolen from him as he's thrown off balance, leaving him stumbling back—he nearly loses his weapon like that, but skull’s grasp tightens around it, keeping his grip. his teeth clench together yet the notably _off_ grin still splits his lips in the same way his brain feeds him images of splitting someone else’s— _joker’s_ —head open like it’s some watermelon he’d bought from the store recently. the expression doesn’t change when he steadies himself, slouching still but standing more upright, smacking the pipe against his palm in some undeterminable rhythm.

“ _heeyy~_ ” if the sound of his laugh hadn’t tipped off the _wrongness_ that’d taken over, the way his drawl seems all but _twisted_ certainly must; a dark breed of husky growl, much more suited to that of some asshole’s shadow than a member of the group that hunts them down. “hey, _joker_ —you’ll, ehehehe...”

his stance shifts, ready to lunge forward for another attack—this time, with only joker in his sights.

“you’ll—let me tear ya apart—riiight?”

* * *

everything’s wrong—the lilt of his voice, the look on his face, the tilt of his spine, the direction of his weapon. joker is fearless to the point of stupidity and doesn’t know the meaning of the phrase “back down” half the time, especially when it’s about the safety of his teammates, but a chill arcs its way down his spine anyway and threatens to make his knees buckle. it’s hearing the words from skull’s lips, dripping with such a twisted and warped glee, that has joker’s thoughts feeling scattered—

—or maybe it’s just that he can’t find what he’s looking for.

(there are a lot of masks inside him—or a lot of souls inside his mask, to look at it differently. truthfully each of them is a mask themself, one that sits within the one on his face and changes how he appears, how he fights—there would easily be too many, always clashing with each other, not letting him stay sane, if they were all there at once. but that means sometimes he’s not certain of what lies inside of him, either—and he lacks the proper mask, the proper persona, that would give him the means to bring ryuji back.)

joker falters, hands darting toward where he keeps medicines in his coat but feet having to scramble from skull’s attack—everything outside of the two of them feels strangely distant, in the complex whirlwind of the moment. he loses his footing from trying to take on too many motions at once—it’s not as hard as it could’ve been but the impact comes regardless from a strange angle into his hip, making joker bite out a grunt of pain as he stumbles to the ground, one hand still rifling through his pockets in desperate search for a tube of relax gel.

* * *

he doesn’t wait to pounce—though the term could hardly describe the action that skull takes, the opportunistic and predatory way he hops on the chance so graciously presented to him. he nearly drops his weapon in the process of practically lunging at joker’s fallen figure—though it doesn’t stay with his grip for too long; a primal, animalistic urge to tear his best friend limb from limb with his bare hands swells up within him, only urged on further by a tantalizing voice in the back of his head, encouraging the violence, the desperation to see skin pale in fear, the sheer _bloodlust_ that’d all but consumed his entire being from the inside out.

the pipe is great, it’s fun—but wrapping his hands around joker’s neck, grinning with nothing but sheer _delight_ was far too tempting to pass up.

skull settles his weight as he shifts roughly, straddling the group leader with all the malicious intent that a shadow would. it gives him the best vantage point; his knees dig hard into the ground beneath them as he reaches for joker’s throat, the image of him gasping and struggling under the hold all but singing to skull’s senses.

* * *

panic is slow to set in for joker; he’s experienced enough shit by now that he’d like to think himself fearless, even if that could only possibly apply to _joker_ and not _ren_ . but then there’s that awful _look_ on ryuji’s face and the way he won’t stop _grinning_ and it digs its way under joker’s skin, making his teeth clench and his hair stand on end.

it’s a blessing in some way that skull dropped his weapon—joker knows how hard he can hit, maybe not first-hand but skull’s easily one of the hardest hitters on the team for sheer might—but his bare hands aren’t much less dangerous and joker’s blood feels cold in his veins. _“skull—!”_ he finally calls as he struggles in vain not to become trapped underneath the blond’s body, voice still carrying that deep and authoritative tone that belongs to the leader of the phantom thieves—he doubts that words can reach his friend like this but the time is passed for silence, even from ren.

joker’s hands snap upward to catch the blond’s wrists, struggling to keep those hands off his throat. it’s not easy: physically speaking, ryuji’s just _stronger_ , and not exactly a featherweight, whereas ren’s a bit like a noodle, himself. “skull, snap out of it—!” he tries again, fighting to keep his voice from wavering—the panic is starting to creep through his system, quickening his heartbeat, widening his pupils, tightening his lungs in on themselves.

* * *

(won’t he look perfect like that, with bruises on his throat as he writhes and gasps?) it says, a beautiful and melodic ballad singing him along, pushing him into the depths of mindlessness that wraps around him; he can hardly see anything past what it wants him to see—hardly has any focus outside of wanting to satiate the desire to _destroy_.

_yes_ —he recognizes his name when it’s shouted, but it flutters in one ear and out the other, carrying no weight along its journey. still, he responds: “‘m feelin’ _great_ , man!” to the protest. “what’s wrong? why ya fightin’?”

(won’t it feel _perfect_ to steal that breath from him, to knock him down from the heights in which he always seems to hold himself?)

_i want to_ —fighting against joker is a challenge but it’s not one skull doesn’t have the capabilities of surpassing; the weight and force he puts behind his actions increases, all but wanting to _overpower_ him. he knows he can—doesn’t that make it better, knowing that this struggle is meaningless?

(wouldn’t it be nice to—)

“— _tear into you,_ ” he finishes that voice in his head, a growl in his voice that doesn’t align with the twisted mirth in his eyes. his keeps his balance atop the other, blind to the environment around them both—his fingers twitch, _itching_ to reach _just a bit_ further.

* * *

the look on his face is so _weak,_ so unbefitting of the ever-cool leader of the phantom thieves of heart—pupils blown out and teeth clenched around shallow gasps, an honest, pathetic _fear_ finally clawing its way through his stoic facade. he’s all but helpless, his head too scrambled to retaliate; skull’s voice is just enough _the same_ that it intensifies the utter wrongness of his words, of his actions, and joker’s strength is waning.

“listen to me,” he pleads, the theatrics all but sapped out of his tone—he feels _small_ and he _hates it_ , hates that powerless feeling; it reminds him too much of the feeling of being trampled underfoot by someone with undue power. but this isn’t like that; this is _ryuji_ , a friend, an ally, an equal, someone who shouldn’t and _doesn’t_ want this and maybe it’s because of that that ren can’t make himself angry; it’s not right, nor just. (or maybe he just couldn’t bring himself to hurt ryuji even for his own good—is that true?)

everything’s a blur except the things that he can’t comprehend, still; ren’s arms tremble with effort but it’s not enough, and he sputters on the sensation of hands powerfully gripping at his throat. breathing was already hard enough but now the difficulty is merciless; he gasps, claws at ryuji’s hands, refuses to look into ryuji’s twisted expression. he all but squeaks out ryuji’s name, lungs burning for air and vocal cords crushed—he thrashes for some measure of control, but finds none.

* * *

it’s everything he’d imagined and _more_ —from the visual right down to the _feeling_ , skull’s all but _ecstatic_ . both his expression and his voice share just as much—the giggling from before shifts into that of a _laugh_ , one of which had never been present in such a caliber before. not from him. his grin widens in its twisted way as his fingers press down—he wonders if he could reach right through and tear out joker’s pulse like this himself, and the image of such in his mind has him giddy.

it’s great—it’s _fantastic_! the way his hands fit around the column of joker’s neck, the way joker writhes and chokes, gasping and squeaking like something far more pathetic than he had any right to be; somehow, it all but feeds into the thrill, warming the blood in skull’s veins and pumping more adrenaline through his system.

“not bad, huh?” like some sort of gloating accomplishment he chuckles, all his focus glued to the way joker’s nails leave marks against his skin. that’s good, too—whenever he looks at them, he’ll remember this image _perfectly_ . taking down the phantom thieves leader, turning him into a pleading, gasping, _weak_ mockery of everything their group represented—wasn’t it nothing less than _delightful_?

so _why_ —why is there something inside him that seems to grow tense with each slow-passing second, some coiled feeling that faintly _stings_? his expression falters a moment as he shifts his position, tries to focus back on his task and kick the pesky feeling aside.

it leaves _something_ in him unsettled, nonetheless; his grin turns into more of a snarl (and sometimes slipping, if only for a half a second, into something like _confusion_ ) the longer it persists.

* * *

it hurts, _stings_ in more ways than one—the feeling of his lungs pleading for air, his neck gripped hard enough to bruise, his heart jerking with each beat and sending something venomous through his veins. ren has one eye half-closed and though his vision blurs at the edges, he catches sight of the demented glee on ryuji’s face from beyond his stilted mask and it hurts in a way that his body couldn’t, doesn’t even compare to. ren’s teeth dig into his lower lip hard enough to cut and he writhes, gloved fingers digging harder into the skin behind skull’s sleeves; his expression is wrecked, a wet feeling gathering at the corners of his eyes, and his grip begins to weaken as he sees something barely shift in ryuji’s face, going from maddened gloating to an uneasy snarl, and it’s enough to send a tiny spark through joker’s resolve.

he doesn’t have the breath to speak but he whispers ryuji’s name again, only to faintly hear another voice calling to _him_ instead—ren’s eyes go wide and time seems to stop as his gaze cuts toward the others, who he’d lost track of somewhere in his single-minded confusion, though he can’t quite see them like this. a bullet zips by, right between the two boys, and suddenly he can breathe again—joker heaves in a few breaths, clutching at the mussed breast of his shirt, pulling his knees up as he realizes that skull is no longer on top of him.

_“get it together, guys!”_ the voice calls, and joker snaps back to reality—his chest is still burning, his lip’s bleeding, his breaths ragged, but his will’s back with him. he nods with a weak grunt and weakly pulls himself to his feet. as he resumes searching his pockets he refuses to take his eyes off of skull’s form—ryuji’s fast on his feet, even with his bad leg, but if there’s one thing joker’s fairly confident in it’s that between them, his reflexes are quicker.

* * *

something’s not right. there’s a part of him that screams this, but ryuji’s too far away to decipher the words, too caught up in the numbing hum of those sadistic urges. if anything, the confusion drives him to gripping harder—but then slackening just a bit, in quick, alternating patterns, as if he doesn’t know which one is the one he wants to see through _more_.

the option’s taken from him in the form of a bullet, sudden and startling. skull’s all but forced to pull back to avoid it in that split second, his grasp on joker’s throat relinquished as fumbles away—the loss of the sensation beneath his fingertips stirs up something _aggravated_ within him, and he _growls_ as his fist clenches tight, slamming into the ground out of nothing more than pure frustration. he _had_ him, damnit—he had joker’s very life right _there_ , and it only needed a _bit_ more to—

(why is he thinking like this? joker is... _ren_ is—)

—up on his feet, and skull is _not_ ; the disadvantage here isn’t lost on him. skull’s not graceful in any sense of the word, scrambling upright and to his feet with a half-snarl, half-grin—after all, if he’d managed to do so well the first time, then round two should be a cakewalk.

“come _on_ —ya don’t gotta make this any harder than it has’ta be, man,” there’s something strange, to him, about how his voice sounds, much less the words that come from his lips—he’s trying to pin the source of that feeling, but he keeps getting pulled away, too caught up in bloodlust to fight it. instead, he rolls his shoulders and neck with a giggle, making eye contact with the phantom thief leader for a brief moment before he charges forward for the second time.

* * *

skull’s not rushing things, joker realizes quickly; in fact, whatever’s got a hold on him seems to be taking its dear, sweet time with getting back at him. joker can’t help but smirk, that devil’s grin he’s become known for slipping across his lips as he finally can feel that he has control of the situation again—he’s got the medicine he needs in hand and enough fragmented seconds while ryuji is still in the midst of his advance to reach up and rip his mask off, blue chains encircling the form of a winged woman behind him.

“sorry, ryuji,” he breathes, expression tense and tone a bit soft for ‘joker’; he clicks his tongue and hardens his will; “— _go down_ .” a burst of wind magic echoes between himself and the persona behind him, rushing out to knock skull off his feet—he hopes it won’t hurt too much, but it’s necessary to get the opening he needs to _pounce_ , motions as entirely feline as the world might imply.

now it’s ren straddling ryuji, not wasting a second in getting the relax gel onto his hands and his hands onto ryuji’s face, pushing fingers up under his mask—it feels a bit foolish, but applying this stuff is always a little weird. actually, why takemi makes this stuff a topical cream is a mystery to him—but he guesses nothing else would really be particularly easy to apply under these circumstances…? still, he loses face for a moment despite the lingering danger of the situation, a bemused smirk quirking across his bloody lips.

“...hey, ryuji.” he says quietly, pointedly massaging his friend’s jaw, continuing along to his neck without seeming at all ruffled. (then again, physical contact doesn’t really bother him in much of any context.) “why is the medicine for mental ailments a gel? do you think my doctor has weird kinks she’s not telling me about...?”

* * *

there’s a part of skull that fights against his body, tries to push himself to move faster, close the distance before joker can manage anything with that persona he’d summoned, but that part of him doesn’t win. it’s the side of him that struggles in confusion, uncertain of what he’s doing and _why_ that manages to grab him last second, causing his steps to falter in the few heartbeats it takes before he’s practically slammed by a gust of wind. the cry he gives is both startled and pained—he groans when he finds himself on his back, and makes an even harsher sound when joker lands atop him.

skull’s fingers twitch, as if remembering how it felt to be clasped around joker’s throat—something inside him feels sick, but it fades in and out, tangled with the desire to tear his leader—his _best friend_ apart. the roles are reversed now, though, and the sharp breath he draws when joker reaches towards him is more of a hiss than not, even as skull’s hands struggle to take their grip on joker’s wrists.

“i’ll—kill—” he starts but he doesn’t finish, his words choking off for reasons beyond the chilly sensation of gel contacting his skin; he doesn’t _want_ to finish that statement, does he? why would he—why would he _ever_ want to cause _joker_ harm, much less _kill him_?

right, yes—this is _joker_ talking to him, joker smirking at him in a way not entirely abnormal, seemingly nonchalant about this entire thing, when skull still feels as though it’d be _great_ to see the leader bruised and bloodied, choking on his life and paling as light fades from him—

the sound skull makes is all but agonized; he doesn’t want those types of thoughts bouncing around in his head, much less have such an urge to _act_ on them prodding in his mind—his stomach twists itself into knots at the idea of following through, and yet those harrowing images and thoughts remain, though somewhat quieter now as his sense slowly begins returning to him. a familiar look gradually starts fading into ryuji’s eyes, though not quite in the way that’d signal complete normalcy—the flicker of a wicked flame still remains in his expression despite the underlying distress that furrows his brows.

“d-dude...” he manages after a moment, breath caught in his lungs and threatening to asphyxiate him on the spot. his grip on joker tightens, shaky, as skull tries to determine if he can trust _himself_ , much less allow joker to trust _him_.

* * *

there’s more feeling in the sigh he releases than ren would have much capacity to put to words—a tired, perhaps even ragged relief at seeing something _normal_ in ryuji’s expression, even if that’s still tinted for the pained, physical and mental agony trying to reconcile themselves into one twisting of features. joker’s confidence reaches foolish levels but at moments like this he wonders himself how much of it is unconscious bravado—his heart is hammering in his chest, too, even as he assures himself that the raw, unnatural anger in skull’s eyes is dying down as the seconds tick by.

some of the fool’s strength in his body suddenly slips from his grasp, adrenaline settling down and leaving him drained—ren falls forward, measuring his breathing, and rests his forehead on ryuji’s chest, red gloved hands growing lax as well. there’s a bit of a chuckle there, amid his uneasy breathing (much as he tries to cover it up); they ‘almost die’ all the time down here, right? this danger is nothing new, in fact, it’s something joker might even get a bit high on—but this is different in a nauseating sort of way, because _ryuji_ isn’t one of those distorted shadows, he’s someone ren relies on way more than he knows how to say.

“welcome back,” he mumbles, not at all able to recover that bravado again for the moment—no, that’s just awkward transfer student ren speaking, not overconfident phantom thief leader joker—ren, the one who’s always fumbling his words a little bit and hiding behind oversized glasses, only looking remotely cool when someone starts looking down on him and his rebel’s will rears its head.

“don’t scare me like that, man.” typical joker, always worrying about his teammates first—but that’s alright, he thinks. silently, he’s glad ryuji won’t get to see the bruises he’s sure are there on his neck, pressed purple and black into his skin—it’s nothing a bit of healing can’t fix, much like the bloody lip and any bumps he caused skull in the process of knocking him flat—it’s just better that ryuji doesn’t have to see it himself.

* * *

for all that joker is a great leader—a great _friend_ —ryuji is all too aware of how _reckless_ he can be. not that ryuji’s any better, though; maybe that’s why they work so great together, though ryuji can almost hear makoto’s frustration at the very thought of that being considered a _positive_ thing. he’d laugh over that under any other circumstance, but now’s far from the time—his heart’s beating way too fast and panic and unease boils way too strongly within him to even consider making a joke in the light of this.

(it shows where joker’s strong in the way that ryuji isn’t—the thought briefly passes in his mind with a hint of admiration attached to it.)

he can hear the difference in joker’s voice when he speaks, and it doesn’t help ryuji’s nerves in the slightest; even when he tries his hand at brushing this all off like nothing, his laugh falls far short, something in it cracking in disbelief.

he’d tried to _kill_ joker—he really, _honestly_ tried to—

“you—you okay?” he asks, his grip on joker’s wrists loosening into something that’s more stabilizing than anything else. he’s not sure whether he’s asking because of how joker leans against him, or because of the sound of his voice, or if it’s because he can still so clearly see the way joker was gasping for air, pinned beneath him, in his mind despite how desperately ryuji tries to push it away. or maybe it’s because ryuji doesn’t know what else to _say_ in a moment like this; he’s not the type to try and introspect on something like this, especially when, at his core, he’s still _scared_ of losing himself to whatever that was, again. “t-the hell kind of attack _was_ that?”

* * *

 his heart rate seems to be evening out, the lingering panic and unease finally making its way out of his system. it’s good hearing ryuji laugh, even if it’s strained; things will return to normal and they will be fine, just as they always are. joker is good at bouncing back from things, he’d like to think—he’s resilient because he’s had to be, just like the rest of them have, in order to survive without a place to be.

“i’m fine,” he says, voice regaining strength—but he doesn’t yet lift his head, content to just slide his hands down to wrap around ryuji’s for a moment. only after he’s got the blond’s palms in his own does joker sit up, righting his expression to a bit more of a joker standard, a half-smirk on his lips though his eyes are still more relieved and concerned than anything.

he doesn’t think too hard about how he’s basically holding ryuji’s hands—it makes him feel a bit better, try as he might not to express that there’s still even a hint of discomfort in his system. it’s not that he’s scared of ryuji—more that he’s concerned for him. it wasn’t him, after all, that did that, said those things—not _really_ , anyway. the impact of having something weird inside your head, though—ren keeps thinking about how awful it has to feel.

“marin karin,” joker explains, familiar enough with the strange little incantations of all these things—he clearly remembers succubus whispering that into his ear, in particular. “it messes with your head—makes it impossible to tell who’s the enemy. but it’s alright now—you’re here, and i am, too.” he looks up, noticing that their companions have taken care of the shadows without further incident, and his smirk widens.

“come on,” he says, confident as ever as he starts to rise and gently tugs ryuji upright with him. “you’re not too banged up to stand, right?”

* * *

 joker has the strength befitting of a leader, even when he’s hardly doing anything other than being himself—that collected and steady nature, anchoring ryuji  when he isn’t sure what to do with himself, like now; he hopes he doesn’t take the way joker makes things feel _okay_ for granted. especially not after _this_ ; even _hearing_ the explanation behind that spell causes unease to crawl along ryuji’s spine, but joker has a way with words ( _sometimes_ ), and the reassurance he offers all but smooths those worries back down to the depths where they belong.

in the end, no matter how foolhardy it is, if joker’s not worried, then ryuji shouldn’t be, either—he supposes that it’s a matter of trust, put that way—thinking something like that is good enough to keep him out of his own head for at least a little bit. joker holding his hands, too, is just another point of stability that coaxes ryuji back to earth, back to _himself_ —even if his nerves are still high-strung, like it was the first time they’d ever stepped up against a shadow all over again, he feels it hard _not_ to trust in joker’s confidence.

ryuji remembers that, remembers how they pulled through everything just fine back then, even when they had no idea what they were up against. the mental boost brings a responding grin to his lips—one much more his style—and he grips joker’s hand as he pulls himself to his feet.

“i’m good, man—better get goin’ before they start getting worried, yea?” he rubs at the tip of his nose briefly before throwing a glance around them—something makes an attempt to twist in the pit of his stomach when he locates his weapon, but he all but shoves it aside forcefully as he snatches the pipe off the ground.

“all right! time to get back to knockin’ some shadow skulls in—right, joker?”

his grin is all but back to its norm as it stands, bright despite being a touch more drained of energy than he’d been at the start of their run. ryuji doesn’t seem to mind, though—if he has to chase away those sadistic thoughts with the idea of grabbing some ramen with his best bud after all this, then he’ll gladly keep at it for as long as it takes.


	2. Ren POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Same story, but only the Ren POV.

mementos is full of surprises; every time they think they understand it at all, it gets a little deeper, a little wilder, and even morgana doesn’t know what might lie ahead—their newest member is good at analyzing from what data they have already, but there’s no real way to gain more without getting their hands dirty, and there’s no way something like that can go smoothly every time.

so it’s not like ren hasn’t seen this kind of thing before—spells that affect the way they think, incapacitate his allies in invisible ways, make them shake in fear or slump over in despair or even charge ahead in irrational rage. the hair on the back of his neck stands up when he sees the pinkish miasma coming from a shadow and he freezes only to turn and rush back toward skull when he’s hit. joker barks out an order for everyone else to stay back, keep the heat on the enemy while he takes care of this—the laughter spilling from skull’s lips is downright unsettling and joker knows this is bad, but things’ll get _way worse_ if they let that thing get the upper hand with more of this type of spell.

he shoulder-checks the blond to keep his pipe from landing a blow on queen’s form, meets her eyes for a split-second to share a look that he _hopes_ is convincing as she falters—then whirls on his heel to face his friend, planting his feet as he tries to dig out the right power from within the overflowing well that is his mask.

“ _heeyy~_ ” if the sound of ryuji’s laugh hadn’t tipped off the _wrongness_ that’d taken over, the way his drawl seems all but _twisted_ certainly does; a dark breed of husky growl, much more suited to that of some asshole’s shadow than a member of the group that hunts them down. “hey, _joker_ —you’ll, ehehehe...”

skull’s stance shifts, ready to lunge forward for another attack—this time, with only joker in his sights.

“you’ll—let me tear ya apart—riiight?”

joker is fearless to the point of stupidity and doesn’t know the meaning of the phrase “back down” half the time, especially when it’s about the safety of his teammates, but a chill arcs its way down his spine anyway and threatens to make his knees buckle. it’s hearing the words from skull’s lips, dripping with such a twisted and warped glee, that has joker’s thoughts feeling scattered—

—or maybe it’s just that he can’t find what he’s looking for.

(there are a lot of masks inside him—or a lot of souls inside his mask, to look at it differently. truthfully each of them is a mask themself, one that sits within the one on his face and changes how he appears, how he fights—there would easily be too many, always clashing with each other, not letting him stay sane, if they were all there at once. but that means sometimes he’s not certain of what lies inside of him, either—and he lacks the proper mask, the proper persona, that would give him the means to bring ryuji back.)

skull pounces and joker falters, hands darting toward where he keeps medicines in his coat but feet having to scramble from skull’s attack—everything outside of the two of them feels strangely distant, in the complex whirlwind of the moment. he loses his footing from trying to take on too many motions at once—it’s not as hard as it could’ve been but the impact comes regardless from a strange angle into his hip, making joker bite out a grunt of pain as he stumbles to the ground, one hand still rifling through his pockets in desperate search for a tube of relax gel.

skull settles his weight as he shifts roughly, straddling the group leader with all the malicious intent that a shadow would; his knees dig hard into the ground beneath them as he reaches for joker’s throat. panic is slow to set in for joker; he’s experienced enough shit by now that he’d like to think himself fearless, even if that could only possibly apply to _joker_ and not _ren_ . but then there’s that awful _look_ on ryuji’s face—the way he won’t stop _grinning_ —and it digs its way under joker’s skin, making his teeth clench and his hair stand on end.

it’s a blessing in some way that skull dropped his weapon mid-attack—joker knows how hard he can hit, maybe not first-hand, but skull’s easily one of the hardest hitters on the team for sheer might—but his bare hands aren’t much less dangerous and joker’s blood feels cold in his veins.

 _“skull—!”_ he finally calls as he struggles in vain not to become trapped underneath the blond’s body, voice still carrying that deep and authoritative tone that belongs to the leader of the phantom thieves—he doubts that words can reach his friend like this but the time is passed for silence, even from ren.

joker’s hands snap upward to catch the blond’s wrists, struggling to keep those hands off his throat. it’s not easy: physically speaking, ryuji’s just _stronger_ , and not exactly a featherweight, whereas ren’s a bit like a noodle, himself. “skull, snap out of it—!” he tries again, fighting to keep his voice from wavering—the panic is starting to creep through his system, quickening his heartbeat, widening his pupils, tightening his lungs in on themselves.

skull responds: “‘m feelin’ _great_ , man!” to the protest. “what’s wrong? why ya fightin’?” it’s so disjointed that it almost doesn’t make sense—and really, putting it that way, it _doesn’t_ make sense at all. “— _tear into you,_ ” he says like he’s answering something joker can’t hear, a growl in his voice that doesn’t align with the twisted mirth in his eyes. he keeps his balance atop the other and his fingers twitch, as if _itching_ to reach _just a bit_ further.

ren can feel how the look on his face has become so _weak,_ so unbefitting of the ever-cool leader of the phantom thieves of heart—pupils blown out and teeth clenched around shallow gasps, an honest, pathetic _fear_ finally clawing its way through his stoic facade. he’s all but helpless, his head too scrambled to retaliate; skull’s voice is just enough _the same_ that it intensifies the utter wrongness of his words, of his actions, and joker’s strength is waning.

“listen to me,” he pleads, the theatrics all but sapped out of his tone—he feels _small_ and he _hates it_ , hates that powerless feeling; it reminds him too much of the feeling of being trampled underfoot by someone with undue power. but this isn’t like that; this is _ryuji_ , a friend, an ally, an equal, someone who shouldn’t and _doesn’t_ want this and maybe it’s because of that that ren can’t make himself angry; it’s not right, nor just. (or maybe he just couldn’t bring himself to hurt ryuji even for his own good—is that true?)

everything’s a blur except the things that he can’t comprehend, still; ren’s arms tremble with effort but it’s not enough, and he sputters on the sensation of hands powerfully gripping at his throat. breathing was already hard enough but now the difficulty is merciless; he gasps, claws at ryuji’s hands, refuses to look into ryuji’s twisted expression. he all but squeaks out ryuji’s name, lungs burning for air and vocal cords crushed—he thrashes for some measure of control, but finds none.

“not bad, huh?” skull chuckles like it’s some sort of accomplishment, eyes glued to the point where their hands meet, but he hardly seems bothered by the way joker claws at him. it hurts, _stings_ in more ways than one—the feeling of his lungs pleading for air, his neck gripped hard enough to bruise, his heart jerking with each beat and sending something venomous through his veins.

ren has one eye half-closed and though his vision blurs at the edges, he catches sight of the demented glee on ryuji’s face from beyond his stilted mask and it hurts in a way that his body couldn’t, doesn’t even compare to. ren’s teeth dig into his lower lip hard enough to cut and he writhes, gloved fingers digging harder into the skin behind skull’s sleeves; his expression is wrecked, a wet feeling gathering at the corners of his eyes, and his grip begins to weaken as he sees something barely shift in ryuji’s face, going from maddened gloating to an uneasy snarl, and it’s enough to send a tiny spark through joker’s resolve.

he doesn’t have the breath to speak but he whispers ryuji’s name again, only to faintly hear another voice calling to _him_ instead—ren’s eyes go wide and time seems to stop as his gaze cuts toward the others, who he’d lost track of somewhere in his single-minded confusion, though he can’t quite see them like this. a bullet zips by, right between the two boys, and suddenly he can breathe again—joker heaves in a few breaths, clutching at the mussed breast of his shirt, pulling his knees up as he realizes that skull is no longer on top of him. he hears a growl of displeasure that has to be ryuji, or whatever’s controlling him, but more importantly—

 _“get it together, guys!”_ the voice calls, and joker snaps back to reality—his chest is still burning, his lip’s bleeding, his breaths ragged, but his will’s back with him. he nods with a weak grunt and weakly pulls himself to his feet. as he resumes searching his pockets he refuses to take his eyes off of skull’s form—ryuji’s fast on his feet, even with his bad leg, but if there’s one thing joker’s fairly confident in it’s that between them, his reflexes are quicker.

like this, skull’s not graceful in any sense of the word, scrambling upright and to his feet with a half-snarl, half-grin—“come _on_ —ya don’t gotta make this any harder than it has’ta be, man.” he rolls his shoulders and neck with a giggle, making eye contact with the phantom thief leader for a brief moment.

skull’s not rushing things, joker realizes quickly; in fact, whatever’s got a hold on him seems to be taking its dear, sweet time with getting back at him. joker can’t help but smirk, that devil’s grin he’s become known for slipping across his lips as he finally can feel that he has control of the situation again—he’s got the medicine he needs in hand and enough fragmented seconds while ryuji is just starting to rush forward to reach up and rip his mask off, blue chains encircling the form of a winged woman behind him.

“sorry, ryuji,” he breathes, expression tense and tone a bit soft for ‘joker’; he clicks his tongue and hardens his will; “— _go down_ .” a burst of wind magic echoes between himself and the persona behind him, rushing out to knock skull off his feet—he hopes it didn’t hurt too much, it’s hard to tell with the strangled cry ryuji gives, but it’s necessary to get the opening ren needs to _pounce_ , motions as entirely feline as the word might imply.

now it’s ren straddling ryuji, not wasting a second in getting the relax gel onto his hands and his hands onto ryuji’s face, pushing fingers up under his mask—it feels a bit foolish, but applying this stuff is always a little weird. actually, why takemi makes this stuff a topical cream is a mystery to him—but he guesses nothing else would really be particularly easy to apply under these circumstances…? still, he loses face for a moment despite the lingering danger of the situation, a bemused smirk quirking across his bloody lips.

“...hey, ryuji.” he says quietly, pointedly massaging his friend’s jaw, continuing along to his neck without seeming at all ruffled. (then again, physical contact doesn’t really bother him in much of any context.) “why is the medicine for mental ailments a gel? do you think my doctor has weird kinks she’s not telling me about...?”

skull’s fingers twitch, as if remembering how it felt to be clasped around joker’s throat—they clasp awkwardly around joker’s wrists in kind, but the grip lacks confidence. “i’ll—kill—” he starts but he doesn’t finish, his words choking off suddenly.

the sound skull makes is all but agonized; ren stays focused, guard still up. a familiar look gradually starts fading into ryuji’s eyes, though not quite in the way that’d signal complete normalcy—the flicker of a wicked flame still remains in his expression despite the underlying distress that furrows his brows.

“d-dude...” ryuji manages after a moment, like he can’t breathe. his grip on joker tightens, shaky—but somehow, it’s not as malicious as before.

there’s more feeling in the sigh he releases than ren would have much capacity to put to words—a tired, perhaps even ragged relief at seeing something _normal_ in ryuji’s expression. joker’s confidence reaches foolish levels but at moments like this he wonders himself how much of it is unconscious bravado—his heart is hammering in his chest, too, even as he assures himself that the raw, unnatural anger in skull’s eyes is dying down as the seconds tick by.

some of the fool’s strength in his body suddenly slips from his grasp, adrenaline settling down and leaving him drained—ren falls forward, measuring his breathing, and rests his forehead on ryuji’s chest, red gloved hands growing lax as well. there’s a bit of a chuckle there, amid his uneasy breathing (much as he tries to cover it up); they ‘almost die’ all the time down here, right? this danger is nothing new, in fact, it’s something joker might even get a bit high on—but this is different in a nauseating sort of way, because _ryuji_ isn’t one of those distorted shadows, he’s someone ren relies on way more than he knows how to say.

“welcome back,” he mumbles, not at all able to recover that bravado again for the moment—no, that’s just awkward transfer student ren speaking, not overconfident phantom thief leader joker—ren, the one who’s always fumbling his words a little bit and hiding behind oversized glasses, only looking remotely cool when someone starts looking down on him and his rebel’s will rears its head.

“don’t scare me like that, man.” typical joker, always worrying about his teammates first—but that’s alright, he thinks. silently, he’s glad ryuji won’t get to see the bruises he’s sure are there on his neck, pressed purple and black into his skin—it’s nothing a bit of healing can’t fix, much like the bloody lip and any bumps he caused skull in the process of knocking him flat—it’s just better that ryuji doesn’t have to see it himself.

ryuji laughs dryly, but it falls far short, something in it cracking in disbelief. even so, it’s good to hear: a tiny sign that things will return to normal and they will be fine, just as they always are. joker is good at bouncing back from things, he’d like to think—he’s resilient because he’s had to be, just like the rest of them have, in order to survive without a place to be.

“you—you okay?” ryuji asks, his grip on joker’s wrists loosening into something that’s more stabilizing than anything else.

“i’m fine,” ren says, voice regaining strength—but he doesn’t yet lift his head, content to just slide his hands down to wrap around ryuji’s for a moment. only after he’s got the blond’s palms in his own does joker sit up, righting his expression to a bit more of a joker standard, a half-smirk on his lips though his eyes are still more relieved and concerned than anything.

“t-the hell kind of attack _was_ that?”

ren doesn’t think too hard about how he’s basically holding ryuji’s hands—it makes him feel a bit better, try as he might not to express that there’s still even a hint of discomfort in his system. it’s not that he’s scared of ryuji—more that he’s concerned for him. it wasn’t him, after all, that did that, said those things—not _really_ , anyway. the impact of having something weird inside your head, though—ren keeps thinking about how awful it has to feel.

“marin karin,” joker explains, familiar enough with the strange little incantations of all these things—he clearly remembers succubus whispering that into his ear, in particular. “it messes with your head—makes it impossible to tell who’s the enemy. but it’s alright now—you’re here, and i am, too.” he looks up, noticing that their companions have taken care of the shadows without further incident, and his smirk widens.

“come on,” he says, confident as ever as he starts to rise and gently tugs ryuji upright with him. “you’re not too banged up to stand, right?”

ryuji doesn’t shy from taking his hand; better yet, the grin on his lips is all but _normal_ now, just ryuji’s usual half-stupid smile that could probably cheer ren up on the gloomiest days. “i’m good, man—better get goin’ before they start getting worried, yea?” he rubs at the tip of his nose briefly before throwing a glance around them—there’s a hesistant pause before he snatches the pipe off the ground, but joker doesn’t comment on it.

“all right! time to get back to knockin’ some shadow skulls in—right, joker?”

he nods, because yeah, they’ll be fine—they’ve got each other, and not a one of them would let go over a little slip-up like this by now.


	3. Ryuji POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second verse, same as the first, Ryuji's POV.

it hits him before he has the chance to notice.

until that point, it’d been the same as ever—his heart racing with the adrenaline that pumps through his veins and his fingers flexing around the pipe in his grasp, itching to take another swing as soon as an opening presents itself. his body is all but anxious to spring forward at any given second, hype for the spoils before they’d even come close to ending the battle; he’s been thinking about a hefty bowl of ramen all _day_ , damnit, and this is the closest anyone can get to money growing on trees.

but then the wave of _something_ washes over him as the shadow hisses a spell, quick to settle under his skin, gripping him tight and rewiring all his circuits. the startled shout he means to give comes as a series of giggles instead—and the planted thoughts in his mind blossom instantly, shifting his entire view on the world around him. it feels _warm_ , like he’s never felt this... _complete_ before—like suddenly, everything about this was _right_ . like this is the way things were truly meant to be—familiar faces summoning the urge to _attack_ , the idea of their blood spilling over at his hand lighting his eyes up with some crazed kind of delight. from the urges that pull his lips into a grin to the way he thinks his hands would be more at place wrapped around a friend’s an enemy’s throat—everything all but calls to him, sings hypnotizing songs of unfiltered _bloodlust_ that he has no strength to resist.

so he falls to it, _hard_ , and it’s only a matter of seconds before he shifts to the side, not so much as hesitating to swing full force at whatever form happened to be close.

(and _god_ , has he never wanted to land a hit so much before—even the thought of it has him chuckling again, even before the sudden attack has time to connect.)

the satisfaction of contact in the way he desires is stolen from him as he's thrown off balance by someone slamming into him, leaving him stumbling back—he nearly loses his weapon like that, but skull’s fingers tighten around it, keeping his grip. his teeth clench together yet the notably _off_ grin still splits his lips in the same way his brain feeds him images of splitting that someone else’s— _joker’s_ —head open like it’s some watermelon he’d bought from the store recently. the expression doesn’t change when he steadies himself, slouching still but standing more upright, smacking the pipe against his palm in some undeterminable rhythm.

“ _heeyy~_ ” if the sound of his laugh hadn’t tipped off the _wrongness_ that’d taken over, the way his drawl seems all but _twisted_ certainly must; a dark breed of husky growl, much more suited to that of some asshole’s shadow than a member of the group that hunts them down. “hey, _joker_ —you’ll, ehehehe...”

his stance shifts, ready to lunge forward for another attack—this time, with only joker in his sights.

“you’ll—let me tear ya apart—riiight?”

joker falters despite his determined expression, hands darting toward his pockets but feet having to scramble from skull’s attack. he loses his footing from trying to take on too many motions at once—it’s not as hard as it could’ve been but the impact comes regardless from a strange angle into his hip, making joker bite out a grunt of pain as he stumbles to the ground.

ryuji doesn’t wait to pounce—though the term could hardly describe the action that skull takes, the opportunistic and predatory way he hops on the chance so graciously presented to him. he nearly drops his weapon in the process of practically lunging at joker’s fallen figure—though it doesn’t stay with his grip for too long; a primal, animalistic urge to tear his _friend_ limb from limb with his bare hands swells up within him, only urged on further by a tantalizing voice in the back of his head, encouraging the violence, the desperation to see skin pale in fear, the sheer _bloodlust_ that’d all but consumed his entire being from the inside out.

the pipe is great, it’s fun—but wrapping his hands around joker’s neck, grinning with nothing but sheer _delight_ was far too tempting to pass up.

skull settles his weight as he shifts roughly, straddling the group leader with all the malicious intent that a shadow would. it gives him the best vantage point; his knees dig hard into the ground beneath them as he reaches for joker’s throat, the image of him gasping and struggling under the hold all but singing to skull’s senses.

 _“skull—!”_ joker calls as he struggles in vain not to become trapped underneath the blond’s body, voice still carrying that deep and authoritative tone that belongs to the leader of the phantom thieves. joker’s hands snap upward to catch the blond’s wrists, struggling to keep those hands off his throat. “skull, snap out of it—!”

(won’t he look perfect like that, with bruises on his throat as he writhes and gasps?) it says, a beautiful and melodic ballad singing ryuji along, pushing him into the depths of mindlessness that wraps around him; he can hardly see anything past what it _wants_ him to see—hardly has any focus outside of wanting to satiate the desire to _destroy_.

 _yes_ —ryuji recognizes his name when it’s shouted, but it flutters in one ear and out the other, carrying no weight along its journey. still, he responds: “‘m feelin’ _great_ , man!” to the protest. “what’s wrong? why ya fightin’?”

(won’t it feel _perfect_ to steal that breath from him, to knock him down from the heights in which he always seems to hold himself?)

 _i want to_ —fighting against joker is a challenge but it’s not one skull doesn’t have the capabilities of surpassing; the weight and force he puts behind his actions increases, all but wanting to _overpower_ him. he knows he can—doesn’t that make it better, knowing that this struggle is meaningless?

(wouldn’t it be nice to—)

“— _tear into you,_ ” he finishes that voice in his head, a growl in his voice that doesn’t align with the twisted mirth in his eyes. his keeps his balance atop the other, blind to the environment around them both—his fingers twitch, _itching_ to reach _just a bit_ further.

“listen to me,” ren pleads, the theatrics all but sapped out of his tone. he gasps, claws at ryuji’s hands, refuses to look into ryuji’s twisted expression. he all but squeaks out ryuji’s name, lungs burning for air and vocal cords crushed—he thrashes for some measure of control, but finds none.

it’s everything he’d imagined and _more_ —from the visual right down to the _feeling_ , skull’s all but _ecstatic_ . both his expression and his voice share just as much—the giggling from before shifts into that of a _laugh_ , one of which had never been present in such a caliber before. not from him. his grin widens in its twisted way as his fingers press down—he wonders if he could reach right through and tear out joker’s pulse like this himself, and the image of such in his mind has him giddy.

it’s great—it’s _fantastic_! the way his hands fit around the column of joker’s neck, the way joker writhes and chokes, gasping and squeaking like something far more pathetic than he had any right to be; somehow, it all but feeds into the thrill, warming the blood in skull’s veins and pumping more adrenaline through his system.

“not bad, huh?” like some sort of gloating accomplishment he chuckles, all his focus glued to the way joker’s nails leave marks against his skin. that’s good, too—whenever he looks at them, he’ll remember this image _perfectly_ . taking down the phantom thieves leader, turning him into a pleading, gasping, _weak_ mockery of everything their group represented—wasn’t it nothing less than _delightful_?

so _why_ —why is there something inside him that seems to grow tense with each slow-passing second, some coiled feeling that faintly _stings_? his expression falters a moment as he shifts his position, tries to focus back on his task and kick the pesky feeling aside.

it leaves _something_ in him unsettled, nonetheless; his grin turns into more of a snarl (and sometimes slipping, if only for a half a second, into something like _confusion_ ) the longer it persists.

something’s not right. there’s a part of him that screams this, but ryuji’s too far away to decipher the words, too caught up in the numbing hum of those sadistic urges. if anything, the confusion drives him to gripping harder—but then slackening just a bit, in quick, alternating patterns, as if he doesn’t know which one is the one he wants to see through _more_.

the option’s taken from him in the form of a bullet, sudden and startling. skull’s all but forced to pull back to avoid it in that split second, his grasp on joker’s throat relinquished as fumbles away—the loss of the sensation beneath his fingertips stirs up something _aggravated_ within him, and he _growls_ as his fist clenches tight, slamming into the ground out of nothing more than pure frustration. he _had_ him, damnit—he had joker’s very life right _there_ , and it only needed a _bit_ more to—

(why is he thinking like this? joker is... _ren_ is—)

—up on his feet, and skull is _not_ ; the disadvantage here isn’t lost on him. skull’s not graceful in any sense of the word, scrambling upright and to his feet with a half-snarl, half-grin—after all, if he’d managed to do so well the first time, then round two should be a cakewalk.

“come _on_ —ya don’t gotta make this any harder than it has’ta be, man,” there’s something strange, to him, about how his voice sounds, much less the words that come from his lips—he’s trying to pin the source of that feeling, but he keeps getting pulled away, too caught up in bloodlust to fight it. instead, he rolls his shoulders and neck with a giggle, making eye contact with the phantom thief leader for a brief moment before he charges forward for the second time.

he’s is still in the midst of his advance when joker reaches up and rips his mask off, blue chains encircling the form of a winged woman behind him. “sorry, ryuji,” he breathes, expression tense and tone a bit soft for ‘joker’. he clicks his tongue and bites out “— _go down_.”

there’s a part of skull that fights against his body, tries to push himself to move faster, close the distance before joker can manage anything with that persona he’d summoned, but that part of him doesn’t win. it’s the side of him that struggles in confusion, uncertain of what he’s doing and _why_ that manages to grab him last second, causing his steps to falter in the few heartbeats it takes before he’s practically slammed by a gust of wind. the cry he gives is both startled and pained—he groans when he finds himself on his back, and makes an even harsher sound when joker lands atop him.

skull’s fingers twitch, as if remembering how it felt to be clasped around joker’s throat—something inside him feels sick, but it fades in and out, tangled with the desire to tear his leader—his _best friend_ apart. the roles are reversed now, though, and the sharp breath he draws when joker reaches towards him is more of a hiss than not, even as skull’s hands struggle to take their grip on joker’s wrists.

“i’ll—kill—” he starts but he doesn’t finish, his words choking off for reasons beyond the chilly sensation of gel contacting his skin; he doesn’t _want_ to finish that statement, does he? why would he—why would he _ever_ want to cause _joker_ harm, much less _kill him_?

“...hey, ryuji.” ren says quietly, pointedly massaging his friend’s jaw, continuing along to his neck without seeming at all ruffled. “why is the medicine for mental ailments a gel? do you think my doctor has weird kinks she’s not telling me about...?”

right, yes—this is _joker_ talking to him, joker smirking at him in a way not entirely abnormal, seemingly nonchalant about this entire thing, when skull still feels as though it’d be _great_ to see the leader bruised and bloodied, choking on his life and paling as light fades from him—

the sound skull makes is all but agonized; he doesn’t want those types of thoughts bouncing around in his head, much less have such an urge to _act_ on them prodding in his mind—his stomach twists itself into knots at the idea of following through, and yet those harrowing images and thoughts remain, though somewhat quieter now as his sense slowly begins returning to him. a familiar look gradually starts fading into ryuji’s eyes, though not quite in the way that’d signal complete normalcy—the flicker of a wicked flame still remains in his expression despite the underlying distress that furrows his brows.

“d-dude...” he manages after a moment, breath caught in his lungs and threatening to asphyxiate him on the spot. his grip on joker tightens, shaky, as skull tries to determine if he can trust _himself_ , much less allow joker to trust _him_.

some of the fool’s strength in joker’s body seems to suddenly slip from his grasp—ren falls forward and rests his forehead on ryuji’s chest, red gloved hands growing lax as well. there’s a bit of a chuckle there, amid his uneasy breathing.

for all that joker is a great leader—a great _friend_ —ryuji is all too aware of how _reckless_ he can be. not that ryuji’s any better, though; maybe that’s why they work so great together, though ryuji can almost hear makoto’s frustration at the very thought of that being considered a _positive_ thing. he’d laugh over that under any other circumstance, but now’s far from the time—his heart’s beating way too fast and panic and unease boils way too strongly within him to even consider making a joke in the light of this.

(it shows where joker’s strong in the way that ryuji isn’t—the thought briefly passes in his mind with a hint of admiration attached to it.)

“welcome back,” joker mumbles; ryuji can hear the difference in ren’s voice, the lack of bravado, the wordlessly-admitted weakness. “don’t scare me like that, man.” it doesn’t help ryuji’s nerves in the slightest; even when he tries his hand at brushing this all off like nothing, his laugh falls far short, something in it cracking in disbelief.

he’d tried to _kill_ joker—he really, _honestly_ tried to—

“you—you okay?” he asks, his grip on joker’s wrists loosening into something that’s more stabilizing than anything else. he’s not sure whether he’s asking because of how joker leans against him, or because of the sound of his voice, or if it’s because he can still so clearly see the way joker was pinned beneath him and gasping for air in his mind despite how desperately ryuji tries to push it away. or maybe it’s because ryuji doesn’t know what else to _say_ in a moment like this; he’s not the type to try and introspect on something like this, especially when, at his core, he’s still _scared_ of losing himself to whatever that was, again.

“i’m fine,” ren says, voice regaining strength—but he doesn’t yet lift his head, content to just slide his hands down to wrap around ryuji’s for a moment. only after he’s got the blond’s palms in his own does joker sit up, righting his expression to a bit more of a joker standard, a half-smirk on his lips though his eyes are still more relieved and concerned than anything.

“t-the hell kind of attack _was_ that?”

“marin karin,” joker explains. “it messes with your head—makes it impossible to tell who’s the enemy. but it’s alright now—you’re here, and i am, too.” he looks up, noticing that their companions have taken care of the shadows without further incident, and his smirk widens.

joker has the strength befitting of a leader, even when he’s hardly doing anything other than being himself—that collected and steady nature, anchoring ryuji when he isn’t sure what to do with himself, like now; he hopes he doesn’t take the way joker makes things feel _okay_ for granted. especially not after _this_ —even _hearing_ the explanation behind that spell causes unease to crawl along ryuji’s spine, but joker has a way with words ( _sometimes_ ), and the reassurance he offers all but smooths those worries back down to the depths where they belong.

in the end, no matter how foolhardy it is, if joker’s not worried, then ryuji shouldn’t be, either—he supposes that it’s a matter of trust, put that way—thinking something like that is good enough to keep him out of his own head for at least a little bit. joker holding his hands, too, is just another point of stability that coaxes ryuji back to earth, back to _himself_ —even if his nerves are still high-strung, like it was the first time they’d ever stepped up against a shadow all over again, he feels it hard _not_ to trust in joker’s confidence.

“come on,” joker says, confident as ever as he starts to rise and gently tugs ryuji upright with him. “you’re not too banged up to stand, right?”

ryuji remembers that, remembers how they pulled through everything just fine back then, even when they had no idea what they were up against. the mental boost brings a responding grin to his lips—one much more his style—and he grips joker’s hand as he pulls himself to his feet.

“i’m good, man—better get goin’ before they start getting worried, yea?” he rubs at the tip of his nose briefly before throwing a glance around them—something makes an attempt to twist in the pit of his stomach when he locates his weapon, but he all but shoves it aside forcefully as he snatches the pipe off the ground.

“all right! time to get back to knockin’ some shadow skulls in—right, joker?”

his grin is all but back to its norm as it stands, bright despite being a touch more drained of energy than he’d been at the start of their run. ryuji doesn’t seem to mind, though—if he has to chase away those sadistic thoughts with the idea of grabbing some ramen with his best bud after all this, then he’ll gladly keep at it for as long as it takes.


End file.
